So Michael Libling and I left the Meet the Pros(e) Party last night at about a quarter to midnight, intending to hit the hotel bar for a real drink. We sat down and the young waitress came by.

"What can I get you gentlemen?"

"What do you have in the way of scotch?"

"Um, Dewar's, Grant's..."

"Single-malt?"

"Um ... would you like to see a menu?"

"Please."

The menu arrived and we scanned the pretty decent list of single-malts for a minute.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?"

"Yes, we'll have two Obans, one on the rocks, one neat."

"Um, we can't serve an on the rocks."

"Um, okay, then two Obans, neat."

"What's neat?"

"Straight."

"Oh, we can't serve it to you straight."

"Um, why not?"

"We can't serve that after eleven-thirty. It's an hour before last call."

"Is that the law?"

"It's the hotel policy here. Only mixed drinks, beer, and wine."

"Oh. Well, there wasn't much point bringing us a scotch list then, was there?"

[Exuent, chased by nothing]